


Solid Ground

by M_Monoceros



Series: Event Horizon [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Hux and Kylo don't know how to talk about their feelings, Hux is a masochist, Kylux - Freeform, M/M, Okay Not Really, Pre-Canon, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, copious self-loathing, drunk wine mom Hux, just drunk Hux, referenced rough sex, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-18 22:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5946181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Monoceros/pseuds/M_Monoceros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rationally, he knew that it was best to end their arrangement before Ren got the wrong idea. In Hux’s mind, of course, <i>the wrong idea</i> was that he was anything other than a fearsome leader who definitely <i>did not</i> melt into a blubbering puddle when Ren took off his stupid mask and wrapped a hand around his throat...</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>In which Hux is conflicted, Kylo is annoyingly thoughtful, and they're both really bad at the whole feelings-and-emotions thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solid Ground

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this turned out a lot sappier than I expected. Also, I'm still pretty new at the whole trying-to-write-porn thing so I'd love some feedback on that front...
> 
> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think! :)

> I have a need of wilder, crueler waves;  
>  They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm.
> 
> —From _Fair Weather_ by Dorothy Parker

 

Hux woke early and lay in bed for what must have been hours, hovering somewhere between consciousness and a syrupy slumber that refused to fully leave him. The wind battering his window seemed impossibly loud after so much time on board one ship or another, where the only ambient noise was the gentle thrum of engines and environmental regulators.

The walls of the living structures on Starkiller were thick, but not thick enough to deaden the sound of the constant gales and blizzards that wracked the ice-locked planet. In the day he barely noticed it, but at night when all else was silent, the roaring wind became a dreadful cacophony that always worked its way into his dreams.

Hux glanced at the chronometer beside his bed—0300 hours. He closed his eyes. The window screen in his room was at full opacity, so why could he feel the shadows of the trees outside on his eyelids, moving to and fro with the wind? The pitch of the storm swelled, howling like some dying creature in pain, until the sound seemed to be all around him and the shadows were inside his room, creeping closer, towering over him—

With great effort Hux opened his eyes—nothing but blackness. The wind still moaned distantly, but it was only the wind and nothing more. He looked at the chronometer—0407. A dream then.

He sighed heavily and threw off the covers, wrapping his arms around himself against the chill in the air. His muscles were stiff and sore, aching with every movement, and a dull pain was already beginning to throb behind his eyes.

“Lights,” he said, wincing when they blared on at full power. “Lights fifty percent,” he grumbled, and they dimmed. The new controls had taken a little getting used to.

In the ’fresher, Hux considered his reflection in the mirror. His skin was a pallid grey, even beneath the soft yellow lights that were designed to be flattering, and the bags under his eyes made it look as if he had been beaten.

But that wasn’t too far off the mark. He brought a hand to his neck, where—damn it all. Across his throat bloomed an ugly series of black and red and purple splotches, like a hideous rash. He frowned, pressing gently with his fingertips—a slight amount of discomfort, but not so bad, considering. Thankfully, the high collar of his uniform would cover it entirely.

He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth out the odd kinks that had formed during the night, but paused when he caught a flash of purple on his shoulder, creeping out from under the fabric of his tank top. He twisted to look at his back, and his frown deepened when he saw the extent of the marks. He took off his shirt.

Standing half naked before the mirror, his reflection seemed like a different being entirely. A trail of angry, deep crimson bruises led from his shoulder down his back to both of his hips—he had to crane his neck to see them all.

_Fuck._

Of course, such things were easy to keep hidden—no one that mattered had cause to see him in any state of undress. Nonetheless, such a visible reminder of his own weakness made his skin prickle and his face hot.

_He should not be the one with bruises._

Hux traced the grisly pattern with his fingers, and the resulting twinge of pain was enough to make his breath hitch. Still, he pressed harder, relishing the sensation, clawing at his flesh until his head was spinning.

He leaned against the counter and tried to steady himself, but the pressure echoed on his skin, tingling with the memory of the previous night—the feeling of Ren’s hand around his neck, pinning him helplessly to the wall, squeezing so tightly that his vision went white and all of the strength drained from his limbs… A searing shame blossomed in his stomach when he remembered how Ren had torn into him with such viciousness that by the time he finished, Hux’s throat was raw and practically bloody from screaming into the other man’s hand, clasped so tightly against his mouth that he was surprised his lips weren’t just as bruised as his neck…

He slid a hand under the loose material of his pyjamas and stroked himself—it was ridiculous how hard he was, and how little it took for him to come like that, bent over the counter and staring at his own battered body in the mirror. He felt like an unbalanced teenager again—rock hard at the slightest thought or touch or wayward glance.

After, he kicked off his pyjamas furiously and stepped into the shower, setting the temperature as high as he could stand without actually burning himself. He should feel ashamed. He should be angry.

The water eased the stiffness in his muscles, but the marks on his skin still throbbed, a reminder that only left him hollow and tired and aching with need.

*

Waking so early was annoying, but productive. He dressed, worked in his room until 0600, and then began his daily operational tasks.

The rest of the day was uneventful until it was almost over, and news came that a First Order informant had acquired valuable intel about the Resistance’s encrypted HoloNet channel. Hux sent for a handful of officers to review the significance of the information.

“And summon Kylo Ren,” he added as an afterthought.

“Sir?”

“You heard me.”

The officer before him shifted uncomfortably. “Yes sir. Only, Ren left last night with the second squadron.”

“Excuse me?” Hux said incredulously. “On whose authorization?”

The officer gave the tiniest shrug, eyes wide. “Yours, sir?”

Hux felt a dull weariness steal over him. Fucking Kylo Ren. “Right—yes, of course,” he said. “Bring me the launch file.”

“Yes sir,” said the officer, and hurried away.

*

Of course, the file turned out to be nothing but gibberish—a keyboard smash at best—which was somehow more insulting than just a blank document. No charted course, no clue as to exactly how many men Ren had taken, and absolutely no official clearance for the journey.

He closed the file, set down his datapad, and tried to pay attention to the informant’s story. She was conferencing from somewhere in the Western Reaches as a quarter-sized hologram in the middle of the table. Around him, several other senior officers listened and took notes.

Hux had to admit that it wasn’t only insulting on a professional level—it was stupid, but he had thought that when they began their… whatever it was, that Ren might be different toward him. His outward displays of insubordination were a little more subdued, that was true, and his focus on his duties to the First Order really had improved, but aside from that he seemed even more private and guarded.

They talked sometimes, but Ren shared none of his thoughts or feelings. He didn’t trust Hux (to be fair, Hux wouldn’t trust himself either if he were in Kylo’s position), but it still stung to be treated with such contempt at every turn when, against his better judgement, he continued to put himself wholly at Ren’s mercy. Not that he didn’t want to be choked and bruised and fucked—he did. Hux hated himself for it, but god did he want it. He just wished it didn’t make him feel so empty. Of course, it wasn’t all brutality and violence: there were times when Kylo was slow and careful—almost _gentle—_ but somehow that was even worse.

Hux could never sleep after their private meetings (save for the rare occasion when Ren dozed off by accident), so he drank. Consequently, his store of “celebratory” spirits had been quite depleted in the last few months, and he always woke the same way: stiff and sore and with a pounding headache.

He went along with it anyway—what else could he do? And Hux had thought that perhaps Ren was as conflicted as he was, but no: he got his rocks off and then rallied troops for a secret mission that did not concern the lowly General Hux. Kylo Ren either hated him or tolerated him, but only ever in the offhand way that one might treat a sting insect. Hux hated Ren too, but his hatred was far more self-destructive. In fact, the feeling was so frighteningly all consuming that he wasn’t even sure if it _was_ hatred anymore.

And that was what they were to each other. Sometimes there were variations on the theme, but they always ended up in the same place. The real question was why Hux ever hoped for anything different.

*

Ren was away from Starkiller Base for almost a month, and even though his absence made Hux’s work much quieter, the days dragged by at a glacial pace. He ran out of spirits, and, too ashamed to order more, began taking pills to help him sleep. In his spare time, he worked on his speeches. On Starkiller’s surface, the storms raged on.

All in all it was something of a reprieve, and his trysts with Ren began to seem quite distant and foolish. Perhaps it was because he had actually been sleeping, but he felt more clear-headed and in control of himself than he had been in a long time. Still, Hux checked the arrival logs eagerly each morning. He wasn’t sure what he would do when Ren was on Starkiller again, but he felt that he should take some kind of action.

Rationally, he knew that it was best to end their arrangement before Ren got the wrong idea. In Hux’s mind, of course, _the wrong idea_ was that he was anything other than a fearsome leader who definitely _did not_ melt into a blubbering puddle when Ren took off his stupid mask and wrapped a hand around his throat…

*

His bruises had faded entirely by the time Ren returned. From his office, Hux watched on a live video feed of the docking bay as Ren swept off his ship, robes billowing behind him. Hux waited until he was in the middle of the hangar before he switched on the intercom.

“Lord Kylo Ren,” he said into the microphone, “report to Council Chamber A-3 for debriefing immediately.” Ren paused and turned his masked face to the camera defiantly.

Of course, he did no such thing. By the time Hux had grown annoyed enough to track him down, he found Ren on the opposite side of the base entirely, poring over star charts in an ill-used projector room. Hux strode up to him and deposited a small black device on the console by his hand. Ren ignored the intrusion, focused intently on the twinkling holomap that revolved slowly in the centre of the room.

“I’m not going to tell you twice,” Hux said, prodding the object towards him—it was a location tracker, standard issue for all First Order personnel on base. He folded his arms and began to circle the map, studying the systems and stars. But there was something wrong—the points of light wavered and jumped sporadically, dissolving suddenly only to reappear at different coordinates altogether.

“Is this what you’ve been up to?” Hux asked. “Acquiring a broken map? It’s corrupted.” He jabbed his finger at the flickering stars. Ren huffed.

“I am aware.” He turned a series of dials on the console and the holomap sputtered out of existence. Hux peered at Ren’s mask through the now-empty space where it had been.

“Well?” he said. “You took my troops and my equipment on an unauthorized mission. Care to explain yourself?”

“I trust Supreme Leader Snoke discussed his wishes with you.”

Hux scowled. The first thing he had done after Ren left was complain to Snoke, who, of course, had ordered him to go in the first place. As always, Hux’s knowledge of the mission was incidental.

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t debrief you, as I requested earlier,” he said. “I don’t believe that the Supreme Leader wishes whatever you’ve found to be your private secret.”

Ren seemed to consider his words carefully when he next spoke. “That was a map to Luke Skywalker,” he said simply.

“Skywalker?”

“When his new order collapsed,” Kylo continued ( _when you killed them all,_ thought Hux), “Skywalker fled to the First Jedi Temple. Its location has been lost for decades, but he managed to find it. We will follow him and use it to our own advantage—such a place will be instrumental in our efforts to restore order to the galaxy.”

“The data’s corrupt,” Hux repeated. “How is that useful?”

“The Resistance warned our target,” Ren said irritably, “he had destroyed it by the time we arrived. I recovered what I could.”

“How disappointing,” Hux said dryly. Ren tapped a button and the holomap flashed back to life. He began to manipulate it, sharpening here and recalibrating there, but the result wasn’t any clearer.

“Make no mistake, General,” Ren said as Hux made for the door. “I will obtain the map in its entirety. Skywalker trusted too many so-called allies with his secrets. I will find them.”

“Good for you,” Hux snapped. “But try to give me some warning next time you steal my best soldiers and ships and go traipsing across the galaxy. And _put on your tracker,_ ” he grumbled as he left.

Of course, Ren did no such thing.

*

Hux was busy editing his third draft of a very important speech, pen in hand and reading glasses halfway down his nose, when the door to his private quarters slid open and made him jump. _Absolutely no manners_ , he thought as Ren waltzed through, moving in that strange, off-kilter way that was so reminiscent of a loping desert cat.

Ren came to stand silently in front of his desk. His face was still masked, but Hux could feel energy radiating from him like heat, chaotic and dangerous. He shivered, remembering the last time they had been alone in his quarters

“Can I help you?” he asked, trying to sound more irritated than he actually was. Ren stepped forward and set a heavy object wrapped in black cloth on the desk.

“A Felucian specialty, I’m told,” he said as Hux pulled a jewel-blue bottle from the fabric shroud. Shimmering metallic liquid sloshed inside. With a long sigh of disbelief Hux set the bottle down and took off his glasses.

“Are you serious?” he asked, more to himself than to Ren, who tilted his head.

“Have I offended you?” he said. Hux rolled his eyes.

“Take off the goddamn helmet.”

For once, Ren obliged without a fight. He placed it on the desk with a cold thunk, and Hux regarded the thing uneasily. Still, he couldn’t quite bring himself to look Ren in the eye. Instead, he picked up the bottle of liquor and examined it more closely; the glass was thick and even—beautifully crafted—and the handmade label was written in a fine, looping script he was not familiar with.

“You were on Felucia?” he asked Ren, who was now on the other side of the room, rummaging through Hux’s cupboards.

“For a little while,” was the muffled reply.

Felucia was a humid jungle planet, covered in rainforests and crawling with technicolour flora and fauna. Hux couldn’t picture Ren in such a place—he would suffocate in that heavy black cloak and stifling mask. Or had he shed the getup for something more weather appropriate? That was an even stranger thought…

Hux started when Ren materialized at his elbow and set a glass before him.

“I’d rather not—” he began as Ren closed his fist around the top of the bottle. There was a pop and a hiss (and wasn’t _that_ a brilliant use of his powers, Hux thought, fighting the urge to roll his eyes again) and then he was filling Hux’s glass to the brim. “I’ve been trying to cut back,” he said weakly as Ren nudged it toward him.

The liquid was mesmerizing: it caught the light, swirling into dazzling whirlpools and eddies like miniature quicksilver nebulas. “Pretty,” Hux said tersely, then took a sip. There was only the slightest burn to accompany an overpowering taste of liquorice and something floral he couldn’t name. He looked up at Ren, who was standing close enough to touch. The glass he had poured for himself was substantially smaller.

“Not bad,” Hux offered with a shrug. Ren’s face was unreadable, and he found it difficult to hold his gaze for long, his stomach fluttering in that unpleasant way he had come to expect from being in such close proximity to the other man. Not to mention that his pants already felt uncomfortably tight… Hux shifted in his seat, hoping Ren wouldn’t notice.

“Listen,” he said sternly. “I’ve been thinking about this.” Kylo took a step closer. “It’s best if…” His voice faltered.

“’If?’” Kylo echoed. He was towering over Hux now, and the heat of his body was intoxicating. Slowly, he began to remove his gloves, and Hux stiffened, pushing his chair away in an attempt to maximize the distance between them.

“Listen here, Ren,” he tried again. “I can’t allow you to make a fool of me any longer.”

Kylo narrowed his eyes. “I thought that was the point.”

“No it’s fucking not,” Hux spluttered. “You know, I’m not some Twi’lek whore—” he tapped the papers on the desk furiously— “I’m a _general._ I’m the face of a _movement._ I’m respected. What do you know about that, hm? Have you heard what people say about you?”

“Careful,” Kylo warned, but Hux only scoffed.

“Oh, sod off. I suppose it doesn’t matter anyways—clearly you don’t give a damn what I think. Or what I want,” he added as an afterthought. “But I’m not going along with it anymore.” Hux turned back to his speech and squared his shoulders, trying to ignore Kylo’s looming presence, closer than ever. His face felt feverish and his limbs still tingled with a vexing mixture of adrenaline and arousal, but he fixed his eyes resolutely on the pages. “Oh, and _that_ —” he thrust his pen at the glass of silver liquor—“tastes like something a rebellious youngling would drink when they wanted to disappoint their parents.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Kylo said evenly.

Hux whirled on him, standing so fast that his chair nearly fell over. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded. “You’re sorry I _what_? That’s nothing. That’s—”

But before Hux could tell him what exactly _that_ was, Kylo’s lips were on his and his whole body was on fire.

Hux threw himself into the kiss. It wasn’t exactly tender, but it wasn’t cruel either, and he gripped Kylo hungrily, twining his fingers into his hair and refusing to let the other man pull away. When they finally parted, both panting, Hux couldn’t tear his eyes from Kylo’s face—cheeks flushed, eyes bright, the moisture on his lips sparkling in the light.

“Did you miss me, General?” Kylo asked, his voice low and dangerous, and Hux couldn’t answer, because god damn it he _had_ missed him. He had missed hating him as much as he had missed _this,_ whatever it was.

“Take off your clothes,” Hux demanded shakily, but Kylo’s hands were already at his collar—he tore off his cowl and flung it aside, revealing an assortment of layered wraps and belts that Hux always found both puzzling and absurd. Somehow, he only had to pull a few zips and he was naked. Hux scrambled to follow suit.

Kylo leaned back against the desk, watching Hux’s hands keenly as they travelled over the smooth white skin of his torso. Under all the bulky clothing he was nothing but taut muscle and sinew, and it made Hux conscious of his own physique—or lack thereof. He had no exercise regime (who had the time?), skipped too many meals, and drank far more than was good for him. Though he was only a hair shorter than Kylo, he was much lankier.

Hux couldn’t dwell on his insecurities for long, however, because Kylo reached for his face and they were kissing again. He ground himself against the other man’s hips, relishing the feeling of Kylo’s bare skin against his own.

“I did miss you,” Hux confessed breathlessly, the words sticking painfully in his throat.

“I thought so.”

When Kylo’s hand slid between his thighs it was all he could do not to come right then—it only took a few strokes before his legs were shaking and he was gasping into the other man’s neck. Then Kylo withdrew, and the deprivation was almost painful. “Turn around,” he said quietly in Hux’s ear.

He did as he was told, bracing himself against the desk as Kylo brought a hand to his mouth and then to Hux’s backside, pressing his wet fingers inside of him and stretching and twisting until he was satisfied. Hux winced when they disappeared, only to be replaced by the velvety head of Kylo’s cock.

They had been carrying on this way for a matter of months now, and he still wasn’t quite used to the feeling of something so large inside of him—he tensed as Kylo pushed slowly, agonizingly inward, waves of prickling heat washing over him and turning his stomach.

Still, the feeling of being so thoroughly invaded was intoxicating, and Hux’s mind went blank as Kylo thrust into him again and again—the doubts and protestations that had seemed paramount only minutes ago had vanished, replaced by nothing but soothing white noise. He gripped the edge of the desk tightly, eyes watering, and the sounds that bubbled up from the back of his throat were guttural and entirely beyond his control, forcing their way past his clenched teeth no matter how hard he tried to suppress them. Suddenly, Kylo paused, and the sound of Hux’s own ragged breath seemed deafening in the silence.

“What are you doing?” he growled as Kylo pulled out of him with a grunt.

No answer. Hux twisted onto his back and propped himself up on his elbows—he was still breathing hard, and he eyed the sticky smear of precum on his stomach with frustration. Kylo stepped between his legs, gripping him firmly by the hips.

“What did you mean?” he asked softly and with such genuine concern that Hux almost laughed.

“What?”

“Do you want to stop?”

“Clearly,” Hux said, gesturing down at his arousal.

“That’s not—you know what I meant.”

“Since when do you care what I want?” Hux shot back. Kylo bristled.

“I care sometimes.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Hux muttered, massaging his forehead with one hand. “This is ridiculous.”

“You like it when I hurt you,” Kylo said flatly, as if that explained everything.

“Most of the time,” Hux admitted. His answer seemed to vex Kylo, and Hux couldn’t really blame him for that. He tried to gather his thoughts, even though the friction of Kylo’s body between his thighs made it rather difficult to introspect.

“I don’t want to stop… whatever this is,” Hux said at last, somewhat lamely. “Well, I did—I do, sometimes. Before. Oh, I don’t know.” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the rising panic in his chest.

In response, Kylo stooped forward and kissed him so gently and delicately that Hux’s whole body ached. He clutched the other man frantically—his face, his hair, his shoulders—desperate to be closer. After a long moment Kylo broke away, studying Hux’s face with a burning intensity that made his skin tingle.

“You thought of me on Felucia,” Hux said reproachfully—it was something of an accusation, and he expected a rebuttal. Instead, a look of bemusement flickered across Kylo’s face.

“I thought of you everywhere,” he said.

“Fuck off,” Hux hissed, and then Kylo was inside him again with a hand around his cock and their mouths locked together. His strokes were careful and measured, and Hux groaned as he drove his hips down to meet each one. He felt altogether consumed by him; the salty smell of his skin was overwhelming, and the slippery heat of Kylo’s mouth on his own intensified the shocks of pleasure that radiated from where they were joined—where Kylo’s hand slid over him feverishly—

Every part of him throbbed with the frantic need to be closer, to move faster, but at the same time a terrible dread seized his heart, because he knew what would come after: Kylo would don his armour, a faceless automaton once more, and Hux would be alone with his guilt and shame and his pitiful longing for _more._ Because he knew that however much it hurt him he would never be able to say no to _this—_ to Kylo Ren’s body against him and inside him, filling his mind with starbursts and quicksilver. And he loathed his own weakness as much as he loathed Kylo for the power he had over him.

As their rhythm grew more erratic, Hux pressed his forehead to Kylo’s shoulder. He was teetering on the edge of climax when he felt Kylo tense and gasp and drive himself so deep that Hux gave a hoarse cry, and then he was coming too, grinding himself against Kylo’s hand as waves of pleasure broke over him.

*

Half an hour later they were both sprawled naked on Hux’s bed, passing the bottle of Felucian liquor back and forth. Outside, another gale was brewing.

“What was it like in the jungle?” Hux asked sleepily. The liquor was sweet, but strong, and when he turned his head to look at Kylo he noticed how dizzy he already was.

“Fine,” Kylo said. He was lying on his back, one arm folded under his head.

“I’ve never been. Were you hot?”

“What?”

“Hot. Was it hot?” Hux repeated. “You must have been warm in _those_.” He gestured vaguely to the black heap of cloth on the floor.

“Oh,” Kylo said, then frowned. “I guess.”

“I thought maybe you had… I don’t know, summer clothes.”

“Hm.”

“Do you have any?” Hux asked, and Kylo raised an eyebrow.

“No, I don’t have summer clothes.”

Hux took a swig from the bottle of liquor, then offered it to Kylo, who shook his head. “Suit yourself,” he said, and took another gulp. He balanced the bottle on his chest and eyed it suspiciously; it was more than half gone, and he was fairly certain that Kylo had only taken one or two sips. So much for his attempt at sobriety.

Beside him, Kylo’s steady breath was safe and soothing, and he had to fight hard to keep his eyes open and focused on the other man’s face.

“For the record, that’s what I wanted,” Hux said softly. At his side, his hand twitched. He wanted desperately to reach out and hold Kylo, lying so perilously close—to press himself into the soft nooks and crannies of his body and sleep for days, twined together, deaf to the storm raging on all around them—but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

“I know,” Kylo said simply.

Hux closed his eyes. “This is all I want,” he murmured, and Kylo reached over to catch the bottle just as his grip slackened.

“I know,” Kylo said again, but Hux didn’t hear him. As he sat up, Kylo studied his face thoughtfully. There was no denying that he felt something for the other man, but whatever emotion it was recoiled into the shadows when he tried to put a name to it. No matter, he thought as he stood and dressed—they had both gotten what they wanted, and that was enough for now.

*

Hux slept until 0530 the next morning, when his alarm woke him with a jolt. He sat up dizzily and pummelled the chronometer until the noise stopped—his head felt as if it were split down the middle, and he lay back again, face pinched in discomfort and irritation.

Of course, Ren was nowhere to be found. Blearily, Hux scanned the room, and his eyes fell on the nearly-empty blue bottle standing on his desk.

In the ’fresher, he scrutinized his reflection. There were no marks on his skin, but his hands felt like lead and his fingers trembled when he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. He thought of Kylo, lying on the bed beside him… Kylo, who had selected a bottle of liquor with Hux in mind…

*

Soon, news came back from an informant in the Western Reaches that the Resistance was on the move, and Snoke summoned them both to underline the importance of finding Skywalker. The map was crucial, he intoned, and it would be a crippling blow if the Resistance acquired it first. Hux couldn’t be sure, but he had a sneaking suspicion that behind his mask, Kylo was gloating.

Kylo said nothing to him in front of Snoke, and as they left the chamber he walked so fast that Hux struggled to keep pace.

“Slow down,” Hux demanded, and Kylo obeyed, halting so suddenly that he actually bumped into him.

“We must act immediately,” Kylo said as Hux straightened his uniform.

“Yes, of course,” Hux said, still trying to regain his composure. He hated talking to Kylo like this—it seemed so contrived, and he could never tell what the other man was really thinking with that stupid helmet over his face.

“Is there a problem, General?” Kylo said with a tilt of his head.

Hux scowled. “Of course not.”

“Then I have your authorization for the mission?” Kylo asked with—astonishingly—no hint of malice or sarcasm to speak of.

Hux was caught off guard. “Yes, certainly,” he said, somewhat flustered. Turning on his heel, Kylo took a few steps down the corridor before he glanced expectantly over his shoulder at Hux, who hadn’t moved.

“I haven’t read the activity report,” Kylo said. “Would you brief me?”

Hux raised an eyebrow. “If you’d like.”

They walked to the control room side by side. Strategy was not exactly Kylo Ren’s forte, and Hux felt his chest swell with pride as he outlined the location of their target, the enemy territories they would traverse to get there, and what they might expect to find when they encountered the Resistance’s reconnaissance mission. It was entirely his element, and for the most part Kylo listened thoughtfully.

*

Later, Hux ate dinner alone in his room and thought of Kylo Ren. Had something shifted between them, or was that merely wishful thinking on Hux’s part? He had left the empty blue bottle on the corner of his desk where Ren had set it—its presence felt significant, somehow. Like the bruises Ren left on his body, the twinkling blue glass was another reminder. And, like the bruises, he was seized by a keen hunger when he looked upon it. This time, however, the feeling was strangely free of self-hatred.

When Ren’s ship left for Jakku that night, flanked by TIE fighters, Hux watched from the command booth overlooking the hangar. The shapes rose from the icy runway, growing smaller against Starkiller’s darkening sky until they were finally swallowed by swirling black clouds. Kylo Ren was gone again, and Hux was left with nothing but his thoughts and his wretched longing. It was familiar, well-trodden territory.

And yet… every time they spoke, or touched, or kissed, Hux felt as if they were both struggling to gain purchase—jostling for power, yes, but also for something else. Recognition? Compassion? He couldn’t be sure. It was all very slippery and nebulous, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were both orbiting the same black hole in a kind of corkscrew: with every revolution the distance between them closed an imperceptible amount, and then they flew apart again in opposite directions. Eventually, they would be drawn past the event horizon, spiralling inescapably toward oblivion or collision or something even stranger, and who knew then what would become of them.


End file.
